


Sugar Daddy

by onegirlandherpen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anderson is a pain in the backside, Chocolate, Comfort, Emotions, Greg is enjoying it, Greg's worried, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Lovers, M/M, Mycroft is spoiling Greg, Scotland Yard, Sexy Greg Lestrade, Sexy Mycroft Holmes, Sexy Thoughts, Sexy Times, Sugar Daddy, Swearing, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-12-30 15:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onegirlandherpen/pseuds/onegirlandherpen
Summary: Greg Lestrade is enjoying being thoroughly spoiled by his lover Mycroft Holmes, and Mycroft enjoys spoiling him. But how does everyone else see their relationship. And does it really matter what others think?





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
If only Greg’d been paying attention when one of the admin team knocked on his office door with a delivery, rather than trying to distract himself from having to try and decipher another of Anderson's fanciful reports. If he'd contained his curiosity until after work, Greg wouldn't’ve automatically reached into the posh dark navy gift bag that'd been set on his desk. And he wouldn't have pulled out the boxed bottle of 30 year old Ben Riach single malt. The same whisky that Greg had admired and drank a little bit too much of the other night, stretched out on the plushest sofa he'd ever sat on, shoes off, feet resting in the lap of definitely the handsomest man he'd ever laid eyes on.

Momentarily distracted, caught off guard by the memory of those touches, of the kisses that had gone on long into the evening, Greg smiled, _hmm_ ing to himself as he slipped the handwritten note from its envelope.

 _For a man of impeccable taste and beautiful eyes. x_  

The creeping sensation that prickled at his neck suddenly made him look up. And straight at Anderson. He hadn’t bothered to knock, just strolled in and was now stood in front of the DI’s desk, his eyes peering across at the note in Greg’s hand.

Damn it.

Quickly shoving the note into his trouser pocket, Greg ignored the overly-curious look on Anderson's face as he grabbed the bottle and deposited it into his desk drawer.

'So who's sending you posh whisky then, sir?'

'None of your business.'

Gathering all the report papers back together, he handed Anderson the folder, shaking his head. 'You'll need to get that blood results report redone - cut out the faff, stick to the facts. DCI wants it on his desk before 3.'

The folder was taken from his hand. 'It's a pretty expensive whisky, sir. I can't image you know many people who could afford something like that, so it's easily narrowed down to...'

'D’you not hear me? It's none of your business and you've got work to do.'

But  Anderson had that look on his face - another of his flights of fantasy was coming on. Greg sighed silently, and started counting to ten.

'You've never struck me as a whisky drinker. But someone's sent you a bottle, and that stuff is definitely not cheap. Oh, oh! And that tie..'  Anderson gesticulated at Greg.

'What? What about my tie?'

Instinctively Greg reached up, his hand brushing over the soft silk. The memory of warm arms around him, elegant hands deftly knotting the Gieves and Hawkes tie for him as they both stood before the mirror. And then those lips on his neck, hot against his skin...

'It's new! And more fancy they your usual type.'

Christ. Greg knew where this was going; Anderson's eyes starting to gleam in that worrying way. Wanting him out of his office, Greg pointed at the door. 'You've got work to do - now'd be a good time to get on with it.'

But Anderson, eyes wide, fingers tapping his chin, was too far gone to be listening to his boss anymore. 'Expensive whisky, posh tie. Things you couldn't afford on your salary, so someone's buying them for you...'

'Anderson!' Getting up, Greg moved round his desk, his hand reaching for the door, trying to hint at his forensic officer to leave.

'Sir! You've got yourself...'

Greg fixed him with a sharp look. 'What I do or don't have in my private life is none of your business, Anderson.'

'..a sugar daddy!'

'Oh, for fu...' God, he hoped no one else in the office had heard. Resisting the temptation to just shove him out through the door, Greg fixed Anderson with his best senior-officer-not-taking-your-shit stare.  ‘Out. Go and rewrite that report. Now.’

‘You have, sir!'

'Anderson, shut up. I don't wanna hear it.'

'But, sir..!'

'No. Leave it! Now get out of my office, very quickly. Get far away from me. And keep your bloody stupid ideas to yourself.’ Pointing at Anderson. ‘I mean it.'

Slamming the door on Anderson's indignant face, Greg slumped back against it. He breathed in, closing his eyes, slowly dropping his head into his hands. Letting the breath out. Bloody hell.

Sugar daddy?

 ***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comfort, spoiling, a little angst and a little fun.

  
  
‘Not that I care what anyone thinks.’

Taking the proffered chocolate into his mouth, Greg closed his eyes, savouring the silky lush melting taste on his tongue.

‘You don't?’

Greg opened his eyes, looking straight back at Mycroft.  ‘I don’t. It’s just, if he’s thinking it, who else is?’

With his elegant fingers hovering over the large round white box balanced on his lap, Mycroft tilted his head at Greg’s question.

‘No one of any importance to us, my dear.’ Picking another gorgeous looking truffle, he held it before Greg. ‘If it is what Anderson thinks, then there you have your answer.’

Greg, ignoring the chocolate, eyed Mycroft; he was being clever again. ‘Meaning?’

Shifting his legs from under him, Mycroft moved closer along the sofa, his thigh now pressed against Greg’s. ‘Meaning that, Phillip Anderson is the only one whose mind works in that way – always an over-analysis of what he sees.’

‘Hmm.’ Leaning forward, Greg snaffled the truffle Mycroft was still holding aloft, letting his tongue flick at those beautiful lithe fingers. ‘Apart from your brother.’

‘Apart from my brother.’ His fingers and eyes lingered on Greg’s mouth. ‘Whether you would consider their thought processes on the same level is another matter.’

‘Well, yeah, quite.’ Licking his lips – the truffle was absolutely divine, dark and salty – Greg grinned. ‘You’re right, of course. About Anderson.’

‘Of course I am.’ Mycroft’s satisfied smile made Greg feel rather warm all over. 'I can have something done about him, my dear, if that will ease your anxiety.'

Greg knew he was only joking, well, half-joking. Mycroft certainly could 'have something done' to almost anyone with just a phone call.

'Thank you, perhaps not this time.' Greg placed a kiss on his lover's temple.

Mycroft set the box of chocolates behind him on the sofa. Taking hold of Greg’s hand, he brought it up to his lips. The sparks shot through Greg, the heat racing along his skin at Mycroft’s touch.

‘There may be one or two individuals who are only able to see a man of means buying presents for his lover as tawdry, or mercenary.’ Another lingering kiss on his fingers, another burst of heat inside him. ‘They are worth neither your time nor your concern, Greg. Those who do matter wish us well.'

‘I know.’ Greg hesitated; he didn’t want to upset Mycroft, didn’t want him to think he was ungrateful.

‘But?’ Mycroft straighten up, eyeing him questioningly, dropping his hand.

'It’s not that I don't like your gifts, because I do like them; they’re always thoughtful and very beautiful things.’ Greg paused, laying his hand tenderly over Mycroft’s. ‘A gift doesn't always have to be something you've bought. Sometimes, you know, doing something for someone or with them is romantic.’

‘For example, what we have just been doing.’ Mycroft’s voice was light, playful almost, in Greg’s ear; he could feel his cock respond.

‘Well, yeah, shagging each other senseless on the sofa the minute we get through your front door could be considered romantic.’

From the corner of his eye, Greg could see the strewn line of clothes leading out the door and back down the corridor. No care for whether their suits would get rumpled or where their shoes had ended up.

‘ _Shagging_? Greg, please, ‘making love’,’ Mycroft laughed.

‘Sorry,’ he grinned.

Fingers brushed over his hair, giving him goose bumps. Mycroft’s touch always set his skin on fire. Anything about Mycroft’s body - whether naked as they were then or fully clothed  - in close and complete proximity to his made Greg hyper-aware and disorientated, if it was possible to be both at the same time.

Gathering his thoughts back together, Greg laced his fingers through Mycroft’s.

‘What I meant..’

‘You meant, romantic gestures.’

Greg held his eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘Gifts are my romantic gestures, Greg.’ Mycroft paused. ‘If you want me to stop, I can.’

‘That’s not what I want. Just that...’

‘Greg, this is what I am. Yes, I come from money, I’ve always been surrounded by it, by that lifestyle and I am comfortable in it.’ He reached for the chocolate box once again, his fingers picking out yet another expensive but oh so moreish delight. ‘I like to have quality and refinement around me, to spend money on such things for you, and not just for myself, makes me happy.’

‘I’m hardly refined, Mycroft.’ Greg opened his mouth and took the dark chocolate baton Mycroft held up to him.

‘I don’t think of you like that, Greg - as a thing to have in my life. You are important to me. Things are just things. You are you.’ Mycroft smiled at Greg’s grin. ‘Yes, I know, that was a touch profound.’ He paused again. Greg could see him contemplating his next words. ‘I like how I feel  when I am in your company, or whenever I think about you.  Calm, content, safe. If I didn’t have you to come to, to be with, I don’t know….’

With his heart aching, Greg cupped Mycroft’s cheek, rubbing, soothing. ‘Sweetheart.’

Mycroft’s eyes closed, he leaned onto Greg’s hand. ‘My job, it can be hard, dark. Spending the money I earn from it, I compensate for that darkness. But now having you in my life, I want to share it with you… Greg,  I’m no good with words when it comes to emotions, to expressing them. ‘

‘Mycroft.’ With both hands now holding his lover’s face, Greg kissed him. Long, soft, passionately. ‘You don’t need words. God, when you look at me, I just.. seriously I just feel so good, so happy.’

‘Really?’

Bloody hell. The surprise and anxiety in Mycroft’s voice made his chest tighten.

‘Yes. I want you in my life, and I want you happy. Whatever thoughts you have, still have, talk to me. Whenever you need to, whenever you feel them lurking, talk to me. Yes?’

‘Yes.’ Mycroft nodded. Bringing his forehead to rest against Greg’s, holding onto his upper arms as though he was trying not to drown.

Minutes passed. They kept hold of each other. As Greg felt Mycroft relax, he pulled back a little.

‘Mycroft, I’m happy when I am with you. _You_ make me happy. Though I won’t say the nice things don’t make me happy too. I mean the gifts and the posh hotels and…’

‘Ah, you are a superior, refined gentleman then.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe. I dunno how deeply though.’

‘Oh, Greg, deep under that tough, world weary police officer exterior – all dishevelled suits and stubble and…’ Mycroft stopped.

God that look in his eye was so sexy. Feeling himself grow hard, Greg closed the almost nonexistent gap between them. ‘Oh and did I say that I love the sex. I mean, seriously, it's bloody wonderful.’

Raising his eyebrows, Mycroft's fingers began wandering lower, skimming down Greg’s chest. He breathed in sharply as they brushed against his hard cock.

‘ _Bloody wonderful_ is it?’

A half affirmation, half moan came from his lips as Greg felt Mycroft’s fingers start stroking him, making him even harder.

‘Well, then.’ Claiming Greg’s lips in an intense, firm kiss. ‘Which romantic gesture would you like now?’

‘Whatever you want, sweetheart...’ His voice stalled, rough in his throat. ‘...whatever you want.’

***


End file.
